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Looking down at the pile of money, he shrugs, waving my comment off. Sometimes I think the guy needs something to calm him down. But other times, he turns me into a mushy, giggling schoolgirl with his antics. Fuck. What is happening to me? I've kept people at arm's length for years, and these assholes march in like they already own my heart. And I'm giving it to them willingly, without a fight. Here, take my heart into your palms and promise you won't crush it. I can't deny the heart of gold Rad seems to have and his caring yet odd nature. Between saving me and saving my mom, my heart flutters in his presence. Maybe I've spent too much of my life guarding my heart. For good reason, I suppose. But fuck it if I don't want to give in.
"You've won-won every race for two years in a row," Callum stammers, keeping his wide eyes on the money, refusing to look at either of us.
"Facts!" Rad says, pointing at Callum. "But what's a little extra pussy juice for good luck?"
Callum sputters, turning beet red, and turns away with a huff. Hiding behind his head, he releases a deep, calming breath before turning toward Rad again.
"Ra-Rad, for fuck's sake."
"Come on, man, we've lived together for three years now." Rad's grin grows when he places a hand on Callum's shoulder and leans in. "You should be used to me by now." Rad laughs when Callum shoves him sideways with a grunt, tossing him onto the pile of money.
Rad doesn't seem to mind the assault as he rolls around on top of the money, collecting some bills in his hands and then throwing them above his head. The green bills slowly fall and land on his chest and stomach like snowflakes floating through the winter breeze. His grin never breaks when he rubs it all over his chest with a menacing chuckle, turning all of his attention to me.
Rad may not be as intense as Kieran or even Asher, but the look he levels me with has my heart pounding. All the care and love he can provide shines through, and there's no doubt about how he's feeling.
"Am I sexy like this, Pretty Girl?" he asks, playfully wiggling his brows.
I lick my lips, eyeing his lean body when he props his head on his hand, turning to his side. Something dangerous lurks in the depth of his dark eyes, promising nothing but pleasure in my future.
My eyes trail from the tip of his curly mullet soaked in sweat to the ink blotting his chest and neck. Music notes curl over dark black ink, crawling up his neck and only stopping on the right side near his skull, where more music notes dot his skin. He smiles up at me so brightly it's almost blinding. I suck in a breath, staring intensely at his tattoo, losing myself in the lowest part of my life, brought on by the memory of what I endured.
"Don't," I warn, frantically trying to kick him off. "Please," I whisper, gasping for breath, kicking a foot out and landing my kick somewhere on his body.
What a night to leave my knife behind. From now on, I will carry it everywhere. No exceptions.
"Hey," he whispers softly, running a soft finger down my wet cheeks. His touch momentarily calms my nerves. I heave a breath. "You fell asleep on the way to the hospital. I'm not them, remember? We're at the hospital now." My eyes roam over his concern-filled face when he crouches in the opened passenger's side door. The warm breeze of August swirls around us, lifting my long brown strands. I shiver as they tickle along my back, and memories of those monsters' hands grabbing and pulling make my stomach turn.
Behind Rad rests the four-story Central City Hospital. Flags wave and lights blink on and off in the night sky filled with sagging clouds thick with moisture. The smell of rain hits my nose, and my chest caves in. Chaos runs free through my mind at the thought of stepping foot in the hospital. Behind those walls rests my salvation—the answer to the pain radiating from between my legs. It throbs and aches with every move of my body.
The softness in Rad's expression makes more tears trail down my cheeks and fall to the leather seats. With a quivering lip, I shake my head.
"I'm sorry," I gasp out. "I…." Without a second thought, he brings me into his arms, holding me close when he stands at full height, closing the door behind us.
For one split second, I panic at his touch. My mind begs me to thrash and save myself, but the adrenaline that once coursed through my veins ebbs away—leaving my muscles tired and my brain in a foggy existence. I sag into him and realize he's holding me tight and secure without really touching me. Not sexually, no. He's touching me protectively like I'm his little injured bird needing a rescue.
"If you ever want to name names, I'll kill them for you." His voice wavers for only a second, something arctic taking over like he's plotting my revenge on the walk through the front door. "My name is Ashton Radcliffe," he says in a rare moment of vulnerability, swallowing a large lump in his throat.
If I were in a better state of mind and not slowly drowning in the grief of my rape, I'd have told him I knew who he was, that we go to the same high school and have all year. But he didn't seem to recognize me, and that was fine. I hold my tongue, feeling oddly comfortable in the arms of my savior.
The heat of his gaze staring down at me with curiosity seers through me. He doesn't utter another word until we're standing in front of the emergency room desk, refusing to let my feet hit the floor.
"Can I help you?" the nurse says I'm sure looking us over with an inspecting eye.
"I…" he begins, but his beautiful face twists, and his dark eyes dart to mine for permission.
I swallow all the hurt, aches, and pains, burying them in the pit of my stomach. Tears burn the back of my eyes, and my nose tingles against his shirt. If I could stay covered and protected in his arms, I would.
"I was raped." And those words hit me harder than anything my life has brought me. It's real now. I've said the words, and they carry a heavy weight. The truth of my situation now hangs in the air.
"I found her. We were at a party. They…" He takes a shuddering breath.
"Pretty Girl," Rad whispers, cupping my cheeks, grounding me in the present. "Why're you crying?" Two seconds ago, he was light and happy, rolling on his side in the money he insisted on laying down, and now he's sitting on the edge of the bed with me nestled between his legs. I hover above him, planting my feet on the ground.
Wetness coats my cheeks and chin. Shit. I'm really fucking crying right now. How'd I get so trapped in the past that I didn't realize what was happening?
Seeing his tattoo brought everything I had buried for so long back to the surface. When I opened my eyes after the rape happened, it was the first thing I saw hovering above me. I should have been frightened, but something was soothing in his words and gentle in his touch when he placed his coat around my exposed parts.
"I'd never force you to do anything," he whispers with concern, taking over his tone, "Pretty girl. We can watch a movie. We can…" I lose his voice in the vivid memories of my past. His lips keep moving, but nothing registers in my mind. Nothing but the words he's uttered before flash through my mind.
